


Secondhand Smoke

by gutsforgarters



Series: Marlboro Man [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Making Out, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Season/Series 03, Shotgunning, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: “Thought you’d’ve figured out by now that smokin’ ain’t for you. Ya hack up a damn lung every time you try.”“Just gotta get used to it, don’t I?”Guess that’s fair. Daryl chews contemplatively on his cigarette’s filter, then figures, hell, why not? It worked the last time they tried it.Yeah. Worked out pretty damn well.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Series: Marlboro Man [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684750
Comments: 19
Kudos: 74





	Secondhand Smoke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattyshack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/gifts).



> This is a sort of "missing scene" from _Marlboro Man_ , set after Chapter 6 but before the as-yet-unposted Chapter 7. Give me time; I'm getting there. 
> 
> Enjoy some gratuitous making out with a side order of FEELINGS while you wait 💛

Daryl doesn’t really make a conscious decision to seek Beth out; he just _does_ , feet thudding across the concrete like they got a mind of their own, eyes scanning the prison yard for a flash of bright blond hair. The noontime sun half blinds him, makes him shade his eyes and squint, but it winds up glinting like veins of gold in the blond hair he was searching for, too, and he swings around and follows that glint like a light at the end of a tunnel.

He almost reverses course when he sees that she’s holding Judith and talking to Carol, though. Hell, there ain’t no _almost_ about it—he definitely _would’ve_ let her be if Carol hadn’t caught sight of him and waved him over. And now Beth’s looking up, too, and it’s too goddamn late to book it without looking like a fucking weirdo.

Weirder than usual, anyhow.

So, alright. Fucking _fine_. He bites the bullet and starts trudging toward them like he’s on his way to his own execution and not three of the people he cares about most. And it’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to go seem them; it’s just that Carol’s got a way of cutting right through his bullshit, and he’s convinced that all it’ll take is one look at the way _he_ looks at Beth for her to sniff out every last thing that’s gone on between them since that first clumsy half kiss up in the guard tower.

If he was the praying kind, he’d be counting out Hail Mary’s right about now.

He doesn’t, obviously, mostly because he doesn’t know how the fuck any of that shit works, but he still sends up something like a silent plea for strength when Beth readjusts Judith’s seat on her hip and smiles right in his face. Fuck, if he thought the sun was fit to blind him, it ain’t got nothing on Beth fucking Greene.

And, yeah, okay. He’s _pretty sure_ he didn’t concuss himself when he bumped his head during that near-disaster of a supply run—and he knows all too well just what exactly a concussion feels like, so he’s inclined to trust himself on that front—but maybe he’s mistaken. There’s gotta be _something_ mighty wrong with his head, for him to be thinking like the protagonist of a goddamn romance novel.

“Hey,” Carol says, and that’s enough to snap him out of it, anyway, the reminder that they’ve got a very keen-eyed audience who’ll damn well _notice_ if he goes getting all googly over Beth in public. “You just get back?”

Carol’s not _looking_ at him like she knows his every dirty little Beth-related secret, anyway, but then, she’s also gotten pretty good at hiding how she’s really feeling behind a pleasant smile, so who the fuck knows for sure?

“Uh-huh,” he says, because that seems like the safest answer and he’s forgotten the question. Judith burbles out some baby talk and makes grabby hands at him, and he offers a finger for her to curl her pudgy little fist around, struggling not to let anything incriminating show on his face when his bare arm brushes Beth’s.

Fuck, Jesus, he has _got_ to get it together. He can’t fucking function like this.

“Didn’t run into any trouble?”

 _Now_ he remembers the question, and the shit it brings to the surface hits him like a cold shower. A silver lining, he guesses, if you could call it that.

“Almost.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot, careful not to sidle so far away that Judith’s grip on his finger slips.

Carol frowns at him, and he catches a matching expression on Beth’s face when he glances in her direction—because he _can’t_ help glancing in her direction.

“Everyone make it back okay?” Carol asks.

Daryl’s shoulder twinges when he shrugs, but he doesn’t let the brief stab of discomfort show on his face. He’s had worse, and he doesn’t want Beth and Carol fussing over him, neither. “We’re all in one piece, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

Carol lets it go, at least, because she knows him well enough to recognize when he doesn’t wanna talk about something. She smiles again, teasing, and says, “You pick up those tampons Maggie asked for?”

Beth covers what sounds like an embarrassed giggle with a cough, but Daryl just rolls his eyes. A little blood never bothered him much, don’t matter which hole it comes out of. What is he, a goddamn pussy? 

“Yeah,” he says. “Had to root around in the back, but we found ’em. Got enough of the things to last us through winter, prob’ly.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Carol looks around the prison yard, at all the people the nice weather drew outdoors. “We might have to look into menstrual cups.”

Daryl’s never heard of fucking _menstrual cups_ before, but he can guess from the context that they must be reusable. “You tell me what to look for, an’ I’ll find some on the next supply run.”

“I’ll do that.” Carol turns to Beth, then, and holds out her arms. “You wanna take a break and leave her with me for a little while?”

Beth blinks, then shakes her head. “Oh, no. It’s fine; I got her.”

“Honey, I know from experience that that baby is heavier than she looks. C’mon, your back’s gotta be killing you by now.”

Beth smiles shyly, caught out. “That obvious, huh?”

“I know the look.” Carol wiggles her fingers. “C’mon, hand her over. Don’t make me drag Daryl into this.”

Beth’s eyes crinkle, and she glances sidelong at Daryl, giggling a giggle that makes his ears go hot. “Okay, okay, but only ’cause you bulled me into it.”

Judith was gnawing on Daryl’s fingers, and when Beth passes her over to Carol, she tries to yank him along with her. Doesn’t quite manage it, and Daryl brushes his dry hand over her fine blond hair before wiping the other off on his jeans.

And now that Beth’s off Judith duty for the time being, he really doesn’t have a solid excuse to keep beating around the bush. Except Carol still hasn’t left, and his tongue’s swelling up to block his throat, and—

“Hey.” Beth turns the full force of those blue eyes on him, still crinkled with laughter at the corners, and the flush in his ears spreads to his throat. “You got a sec?” 

Daryl’s knees just about give out with relief. ’Cause, yeah, he still doesn’t need Carol catching on to shit he ain’t ready to share, but at least Beth did the hard part for him. She saved his ass, and he’s got a feeling that this won’t be the last time, either.

“Yeah.” His voice comes out sounding hoarser than it should, and he coughs, wondering if he’s got allergies or some shit. It’s the time of year for pollen, ain’t it?

Beth’s grin broadens, and she’s still wearing it when she looks at Carol and asks, “You sure you don’t mind watchin’ her for a little bit?” 

“Wouldn’t’ve offered to take her if I did.” Carol looks from Beth to Daryl, mouth ticking up on one side. “Have fun.”

Daryl freezes like a cornered buck— _what the fuck is that supposed to mean?_ —but Beth just says, “Uh-huh, will do,” and tugs on Daryl’s shirt till his feet start working again. His mind kicks into overdrive soon as he starts moving, the nape of his neck prickling like he’s got a bad sunburn.

 _Have fun_? Fuck, Carol knows. No, well, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe he’s just reading into shit. But what if he isn’t? Fuck, he should’ve known better than to get near Beth in front of someone as smart as Carol—

“You need me to get you a paper bag or somethin’?” He blinks down at Beth, confused, and she smirks back up at him. “You look like you’re about to start hyperventilating.”

Swear to God, if they weren’t in public, he’d goose her ass for that one. “Real funny, smartass.”

Beth grins like he paid her a compliment. “Thanks. Should’a been a comedian, huh?”

“Should shut the hell up, y’know what’s good for you.” Beth giggles, and the sound peals bright and clear like a bell, now that they’re walking away from the prison yard with all its background noise. “Hell we goin’?”

“Thought you liked surprises, Mr. Dixon.”

 _Ah, shit._ If he starts walking funny where people can see him ’cause of this damn girl, he’s gonna be pissed. “When the hell I say that?”

Beth shrugs. Daryl wants to run his tongue over the freckles on her shoulders. “Said you _might_ like ’em, anyway.”

“Girl, what the hell are you up to?”

Instead of firing back with some smartass remark like he’d’ve expected, Beth just points. Points at the prison bus, actually, and Daryl didn’t even notice where they were heading until she did. Doesn’t quite get why she brought him here, either. Not until she explains. 

“Thought you might wanna get away for a while.” Beth tilts her head, frizzy ponytail swinging like a pendulum. “Will this do?”

Daryl should probably say something, should probably thank her, but his throat’s closing up and he just fucking _can’t_. Fuck. Fuck him, but she noticed he was unhappy without him having to say anything about it and brought him someplace he could wind down. Someplace he could be alone.

Well. Not completely alone.

He clears his throat. Takes her hand and threads his fingers through hers.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah, it’ll do.” And, fuck it, if she went out of her way to do something nice for his grouchy ass, the least he can do is put himself out there. “You wanna, uh. Wanna sit with me for a while?”

Beth squeezes his hand and smiles that blinding smile, only he doesn’t really mind it this time, ’cause there ain’t no one else around to see him make a damn fool of himself.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alright. So that’s settled.

The bus’s interior is muggy and smells like the old sweat that’s ground into the torn vinyl seats, but the point is it’s out of the sun and away from other people. Beth leads him to a seat toward the back and sits down first, next to the window, and that’s something else she’s doing for him, too. She knows that he wouldn’t wanna be boxed in. Knows that he’d wanna be closest to the door just in case shit went down, too.

The window’s cracked, but Daryl still asks, “You mind?” when he pulls the pack of Camels out of his breast pocket. Doesn’t know _why_ the hell he asks. Beth’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t mind him smoking around her.

Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t know what the hell _else_ to say.

“Nah,” Beth says, settling her hand on his thigh and leaving it there. Daryl flushes clear down his neck, but she doesn’t move it up any farther, so he forces himself to _chill the fuck out_ for once, flicks open his lighter, and sets the flame to the tip of his cigarette.

A couple minutes pass in companionable silence, him smoking and Beth sitting beside him with her hand on his thigh and her cheek against his shoulder, but he knows it’ll only be so long before she breaks it, and she proves him right when she says, “You wanna tell me what happened out there?”

Matter fact, he fucking doesn’t. He exhales a stream of smoke and mumbles, “You heard what I told Carol.”

“Didn’t tell her much.”

Christ, can’t she ever leave well enough the fuck alone? “What you want, girl, a goddamn write up?”

“Want you to tell me what’s buggin’ you so I can help.”

“Ain’t your problem.”

“Yeah, it is,” Beth says, staring a hole in the side of his head till he ain’t got no choice but to look her in her earnest face. “We’re family, aren’t we? All of us. Your problems are my problems.” 

Daryl hunches his shoulders and sinks lower in his seat, even though it kinda makes him feel like a sulky little kid. Not far off from the truth, though, is it? “Don’t got a problem.”

He looks at Beth from under his bangs and finds that her mouth’s all twisted like she bit into something sour, eyes narrowed in a squint. She doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t have to. They both know he’s full of shit.

Fuck, fine. If this’s what it takes for her to leave it be, he’ll open his damn mouth. “Tyreese ran into some trouble.”

Beth sits up straighter. “He okay?”

Said they all made it back in one piece, didn’t he? Still, Daryl tells her, “Yeah. Glenn nailed the walker that tried to get ’im.” 

Beth smooths her hand up and down his leg like she’s petting a spooked horse. “When’d this happen?”

Daryl sighs, and smoke comes out with it. Christ, he’s fucking exhausted. “When we was gettin’ ready to carry our shit out to the car. Thought the stockroom was clear, but we must’a missed one.”

Beth lays her head down on his shoulder again, and he nuzzles into her. Covers the hand on his thigh with his own.

“It ain’t your fault,” she says. “It’s nobody’s fault. It happens.”

Daryl smiles thinly. “Gotta tell you, girl, that don’t make me feel no better.”

He feels Beth shrug. “It wasn’t really supposed to. I’m just stating facts. Stuff happens, and you can’t blame yourself every time it does.”

Daryl plucks his cigarette out of his mouth and taps ash off the end. He’s hearing what Beth’s saying, and he’d probably say as much himself if the situation was reversed, but since when has he ever taken his own advice? 

“Hey.” Beth cups his jaw and tugs him around to look her in the face again. “I know you wanna take care of everybody. You’re like me.”

Daryl scoffs. If he was anything like Beth, he’d probably hate himself a little less.

“You _are_ ,” Beth says, and she sounds so sure of herself that Daryl almost believes it himself for a second there. “You’re a good person, and that’s why this kind of stuff upsets you. Everyone came back okay, but even if they hadn’t, it still wouldn’t’ve been your fault.”

Daryl’s heart clenches like a fist, and he knocks his forehead gently against hers like that’ll make up for all the shit he can’t say. Jesus. Jesus Christ, this girl’s too goddamn good. Too good for him, that’s for fucking sure.

Thing is, he knows Beth wouldn’t agree with that. And maybe that’s not the same as believing it for himself but it’s still _something_ , ain’t it? 

He pulls back to stub his cigarette out on his boot before the ash smoldering on the end can fall off and scald him. Winces a little with the movement, too. Guess he hit himself harder on that wall than he thought.

Beth catches it, though. Of course she fucking does. “You okay?”

No point bullshitting her, is there? And maybe he doesn’t mind being fussed over as much as he says, at least not when it’s Beth doing the fussing. “Yeah. Got knocked around a lil’.” Shit, this is fucking embarrassing. “Tyreese bumped into me when the walker went after ’im. Wound up knockin' my head on the fuckin' wall." 

And just like that, Beth’s running careful fingers over the curve of his skull, probably searching for bumps. “You’re not concussed, are you?” She leans in close and squints. “Lemme see your pupils.”

Daryl huffs a quiet laugh and flicks his cigarette butt onto the bus’s corrugated metal floor. Ain’t no point in her looking, anyhow; his pupils are probably dilated anyway, what with her being this close. “M’fine. I know what a concussion feels like, and this ain’t it.”

Beth still looks doubtful, but she says, “Well, okay. If you’re sure.” 

“Yeah.” And, fuck it. He presses his mouth to hers, chaste and fleeting, before going for his pack of Camels again. “M’sure.”

Beth quits arguing, at least—what, is a little kissing all it takes to shut her up? He’ll have to keep that in mind—and he lights up, dragging smoke into his lungs. She doesn’t stay settled for long, though, and the next thing he knows, she’s poking him in the side.

He arches his body away from her, because that shit tickles. “What?” he grumbles.

She pokes him again, and he swats at her hand. She stops poking him, then, but she _doesn’t_ stop pestering him. “Lemme have one.”

Jesus, this again? “Thought you liked Marlboros better.”

Beth’s pretty pink lips curl into a smirk. “I ain’t picky.”

He’s not gonna give her the satisfaction of smiling, but it’s a near goddamn thing. “Thought you’d’ve figured out by now that smokin’ ain’t for you. Ya hack up a damn lung every time you try.”

“Just gotta get used to it, don’t I?”

Guess that’s fair. Daryl chews contemplatively on his cigarette’s filter, then figures, hell, why not? It worked the last time they tried it.

Yeah. Worked out pretty damn well.

So he murmurs, “C’mere,” cigarette bobbing between his lips, and tugs on Beth’s ponytail to urge her closer. And she was already pretty damn _close_ , so now she’s practically in his lap. Not that he’s complaining.

Her pupils are dilated too, now, eyes fixed on his face, lips parting to give him a glimpse of her tongue. Daryl wraps his hand around the base of her neck where she’s warm and tacky with sweat, sucks down a good-sized lungful of smoke, and plucks the cigarette out from between his teeth before leaning forward to cover her mouth with his.

Kissing Beth always leaves him rattled and half out of his head with wanting her, but he’s got enough sense left to keep the seal of their mouths tight, like a cap hugging the lip of a bottle, ’cause there ain’t no point to this shit if the smoke he’s holding in his lungs escapes before it can reach hers. It doesn’t, though, and he pushes it into her mouth at the same time as his tongue, tasting the sweet tang of the grape juice she drank with her breakfast under the sour puff of tobacco.

Beth’s fingers snag in his shirt like she needs something to hold on to, something to ground herself as the nicotine lights up her nervous system and rushes through her head. Her chest rises against his when she inhales, then falls when he breaks away from her mouth so she can exhale. Smoke trickles out from between her pretty pink lips, and he licks his, trying to catch another taste of that grape juice.

Her eyes are heavy lidded, sleepy, like she just woke up—or like she just came all over his fingers. His hand twitches as he thinks about getting it down her pants for real, but—nah. He’s not gonna fuck her on a goddamn bus. He’s gotta draw the line somewhere.

Beth blinks, slow and muzzy, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Again,” she murmurs, voice gone all thick and husky with smoke, and Daryl’s cock twitches like his hand had, pushing at his zipper like it’s trying to stage a goddamn prison break.

God _dammit_ , this was a bad fucking idea. Too late now, though, ain’t it? Might as well see it through.

Yeah. ’Cause it’s such a goddamn chore. Asshole.

“Uh-huh,” he manages, and takes another drag off his cigarette. He rushes through it, doesn’t inhale as much smoke as he probably should, but Beth’s lips are _right there_ , sweet and soft as a ripe goddamn peach, and even he can’t fool himself into thinking that this’s just about teaching her to smoke.

This time, she’s the one who seals their mouths together, lips parting on contact, and she’s quick to inhale the smoke he breathes into her lungs, sucking it down like she’s been doing this for years, like she doesn’t cough herself hoarse every time she tries it on her own. 

He was right, when he figured that he hadn’t inhaled enough smoke to make it last, because it _doesn’t_ last. Beth doesn’t seem to mind much, though, when she breaks off to exhale slow and steady. Her eyes look like they’re watering a little, but she just smiles when Daryl runs a soothing thumb across the arc of her cheekbone.

“I get why you do this.”

Does she? Daryl doesn’t press her, though. Just waits for her to finish her thought.

And she does, a second later, eyes fluttering half shut, smile stretching like taffy. “Feels good.”

Daryl’s cock throbs in his shorts, and, yeah. He still ain’t about to fuck her on this goddamn bus, but he’s had it with keeping his hands to himself.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, stubbing out his cigarette on his boot. Doesn’t even tuck it away to save for later, just flicks it onto the floor along with the first.

Beth’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she opens her mouth like she’s about to ask him a question, but Daryl kisses her before she can, wet and clumsy and jonesing for her like her tongue’s coated in nicotine.

And it probably is right now, come to think of it. But even if it wasn’t, he’d still wanna taste it with his. Knows for a fucking fact that he always goddamn will.

If he startled her at all, she gets over it fast, angling her head to deepen the kiss and pushing her hands up his chest to cup the sides of his throat, same as she had the first time they did this, like she’s trying to hold him still, hold him close. And, Christ, doesn’t she get that she doesn’t fucking have to? He ain’t going nowhere, not for as long as she wants him to stay.

For however long that lasts.

Beth breaks the kiss to breathe but doesn’t go far, the air she exhales when she giggles tickling the scruff on his chin. “Here? Really?”

Daryl gives her ponytail a reprimanding tug. “Ain’t fuckin’ you on a goddamn bus,” he grumbles.

She trails a fingertip through his stubble, traces the shape of his mouth. “Wouldn’t mind it if you did.”

 _Fuck_. She really is trying to kill him, ain’t she? “Don’t care. Still ain’t doin’ it.”

“Alright,” Beth says, easy as that, because she might be used to getting her way, but she ain’t about to push him into doing something he doesn’t wanna do, either. “Then can we just kiss for a little while?”

Shouldn’t he be the one asking her that? She shouldn’t have to ask _him_ for any damn thing; he should just give it to her before it can _occur_ to her to ask. “Uh-huh,” he croaks. “Sure.”

He feels her smile against his jaw, then tastes that smile when she presses her sweet lips up against his. Sweet _and_ sour, actually, ’cause he can still taste the tobacco on them both, but he swears it never tasted as good on his own breath as it does on hers. Hell. Maybe one of these days, _she’ll_ shotgun _him_.

Maybe one of these days, he’ll ask her to.

And he _still_ ain’t gonna fuck her, not here and not now, but he doesn’t quite stick to _just kissing_ , either. Nah, he runs his hands all over her, down her back and around her waist, up under her shirt to rake his nails over her belly before taking two handfuls of her perky tits and squeezing till her nipples come up hard and puckered and she fucking _moans_. Daryl takes that sound down his throat like tobacco smoke, holds it in his lungs like he could get high off of just that, and he probably could, probably _is_ right the fuck now.

He lets go of one of her tits just to grope her ass instead, digs his fingers into the bunched-up muscle, and then she’s swinging her thigh over his hip like he flipped a switch, climbing into his lap and seating her cunt against his dick, making his eyes roll back in his goddamn head when she grinds against him through their jeans.

“ _Jesus_ , girl.” He pulls off her mouth to trail rough, wet kisses down her throat, wanting to suck at her but knowing that he fucking _can’t_ , having just enough sense left not to leave a mark where other people can see. “You tryna get me to fuck you in here, after all?” He guides her hips into a tight circuit, licks behind her ear. “That it?”

“I—Iunno.” He shoves his hips up against hers, grinds his hard dick between her open legs, and she gasps and hugs him tight with her strong thighs, clutches at him by the hair. “Is it—is it workin’?”

Fuck yeah, it’s working. He’s about to yank her jeans down her legs and stick his bare cock up her hot pussy, get her bouncing in his lap while they fog up the windows. He’s losing his goddamn mind over this girl, would do all kinds of reckless shit just to keep her happy, to chase that high he gets between her legs, whether he’s up her cunt with his tongue or his dick, so long as he gets to be _in_ her, so long as he gets to make her come. Anything, he’ll give her goddamn _anything_ ; if she wants it, it’s hers.

He lets go of her tit and wraps his hand around the base of her ponytail, pulls her mouth back down to his and slicks his tongue across hers, bites down on her lower lip like it really is a peach slice and pants hot and heavy across the indents his teeth left behind. Fuck, forget sex, he could just kiss her for hours on end and that’d be enough for him—could kiss her till his lips bruised, till he goddamn _suffocated_ —

But he doesn’t get to do that this time, because Beth uses her grip on his hair to yank his head back on his neck, and he huffs out a sound that he goddamn _refuses_ to call a whine. He tries to chase her mouth, so wet and swollen and goddamn _close_ , but she grips him tighter, not letting him. _Fuck_.

“You’re always lookin’ out for everybody else.” She passes her thumb over his lower lip, nudges the bridge of her nose against his. “Let me take care of you too, alright? I wanna.”

Hot pressure builds up behind Daryl’s eyeballs, and they start to itch like he’s the one who just had his first cigarette, but he swallows it down, whatever it is. Won’t let himself think too hard about _what_.

Beth pulls on his hair again, gentler this time, and he bites back another not-whine. She’s half his size but he still feels surrounded by her like this, with her pressing him back against the sticky vinyl seat, her sturdy hips pinning down his legs and her sweet-and-sour breath fluttering across his face. Fuck. _Fuck_. What was she saying?

“Hmmm?” she prompts, scratching at his scalp, and his eyes slide half shut. “You gonna let me take care of you sometimes?”

Oh. Right. He bristles at the thought of having to be _looked after_ , like some kinda helpless little kid, but then Beth’s nails hit his scalp just right, and contentment cools his temper. Some other things heat up along with it, but that’s standard, ain’t it?

“Jesus, girl.” He runs his hands down her sides, closes them around her hips. “Always gotta get your way, don’t you?”

It’s not a refusal, and she probably knows it. 

Yeah, she definitely does, ’cause she’s smiling all bright and toothy now. She kisses the side of his head, right where he knocked himself against that wall.

“Yeah,” she says, “I do.”

Fuck. This girl’s better than a cigarette for calming him down, but she’s also as good as a hit of adrenaline for riling him the fuck up. How the hell does she do that shit?

 _Well_ , he thinks as he clutches her closer and plants his face in her sweaty neck. They got time, don’t they? More time than he’s felt like he’s had in a good long while. Maybe he’ll figure it out eventually.

But even if he never does, he doubts he’d be mad about it. 


End file.
